


You ain't Heavy (you're my brother)

by a_case_for_wonder



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau confronts Caleb about his Bad Habits TM, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 77, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:13:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_case_for_wonder/pseuds/a_case_for_wonder
Summary: "You made me wear her face, and you kept looking at me like- fuck, Caleb. Do you really think I don’t know what fucking hurting yourself looks like?”--The night before the Mighty Nein heads to Nicodranas, Beau can't sleep. When she notices Caleb is up too, she decides to confront him with some thoughts about his recent behavior.





	You ain't Heavy (you're my brother)

**Author's Note:**

> Considering Beau had the presence of mind to ask if wanting to watch the Scourger die was projection on Caleb's part, I think she would have some Thoughts about that Seeming situation...

In retrospect, entering through the second floor window probably hadn’t been the best method of approaching a man who had been shanked in the neck not twelve hours earlier, but in Beau’s defense she has a lot on her mind. They all do. At least Caleb goes for defense first; instead of getting blasted with a firebolt, Beau just watches, frozen halfway in the window, as he blinks at her from behind a shining shield of arcane force. A handful of seconds later, the light of the shield shutters out, and the spell - ha - is broken.

“Beauregard.” Caleb clears his throat. His hand closes around the sputter of white light still cupped in his palm, fingers curling slowly over to smother the remains of whatever other spell he’d been prepared to cast.

“Hey.” 

Beau lets herself the rest of the way into the room, then sits heavily on the interior window ledge, picking at the edges of her sleep clothes. Caleb goes back to his work when she doesn’t start a conversation. Maybe he thinks she just really wanted to hang out in the library. She watches him, for want of anything better to do. 

She should say something. She came here on impulse but for a reason. She shouldn’t just sit here fucking staring, at any rate, not that Caleb seems to care. She clears her throat. Stalls out. Shifts on her uncomfortable seat. Clears her throat again. 

“So. What are you doing up?” she asks lamely.

He doesn't look up at her to speak, but it’s not a slight. “Spellwork."

She’d guessed as much. He's using an oil lantern rather than his own magic for light, something he only does when he needs to conserve concentration. It must be the new spells Essek taught him. More fuckin’ dunamagic. The arcane symbols have a foreign look even to Beau’s untrained eye; angular, geometric, and complex, twining into each other like circles of clockwork.

“I wanted to get a head start before we are on the road. It will not be so easy on horseback, or camping in our hut."

“Right.” 

They fall into silence again. Beau watches him, impressed and a little unnerved by his focus. She doesn't understand how he can be calm enough for transcription right now. She knows if she were him, she’d be drunk or punching something or both, preferably, really. He seems...fine. Put together. But Caleb’s focus can hide an awful lot. 

“Is there something you wanted, Beauregard?” he asks lightly, when she continues just staring at him like an idiot. She shakes herself, folding her arms and squaring her shoulders. 

She’s got some things to say to him. Isn't that what she'd decided, when she spotted the light coming from the library? It's now or never, probably.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve uh, got a question.” 

He looks up from his spellwork, but only just, only for a second. And Beau gets the way his focus works, she does, but she needs it on her right now. 

“Yeah so my question is - what the fuck do you think you were doing earlier?” 

That, finally, makes him pause fully. He looks up toward her, a frown tugging between his eyebrows. “Pardon?” 

Caleb's pen is still suspended over his spellbook in surprise. She crosses to the desk in two strides, sticking a finger against the nib before it can drip ink onto his finished spellwork. “Your little parlour trick earlier, before Jester’s scrying spell.” 

Caleb pulls the pen away, setting it off to the side, settling his gaze to its habitual place over her left shoulder. His frown deepens. “That was magic of the highest level I have the ability to cast. It was hardly a parlour trick.”

Beau huffs, backing up a bit so she doesn’t crowd him. “Yeah yeah, it was really impressive. That’s not the point Caleb.” 

“And what is the point?” He doesn't look angry, quite, but he knows an accusation when he hears one, and Beau isn't trying to be subtle right now. 

“The point-” Beau runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “The point is that you’ve been making some very weird, very fucked up choices lately, and I’m not sure that this group’s best interest is your only motivation.” 

He tenses visibly. It’s an admirable show of restraint, really. If someone had come at Beau with her tone, she’d already be throwing punches. But that’s her personal brand of fucked-up-ness. Not Caleb’s. She pushes forward. 

“First the Scourger, then you throw your little impromptu reunion. Do you get why I’m fucking concerned?” 

“I will not pretend not to have my own reasons for wanting to take down the Assembly, but both of those things were for the benefit of the group,” Caleb argues. “The Volstrecker woman could have had information. The seemings could have helped Jester to scry on members of the Assembly whose faces she does not know.” 

It's solid reasoning- except, is it really? 

“You’re a deserter. That woman was never going to give up information to you. And according to you, every member of the Assembly wears a fucking anti-scrying amulet!” She advances on him again, just a bit, just to make a point. “She was never going to be able to scry on any of them. Both of you just wasted your fucking spells, and for what? So you could look at your fucking old flame’s face again?” 

It’s a low blow, but his face is so still, drawn but not giving anything away. She saw him, earlier. She’s not the most perceptive in their group, but she’s also not a fucking idiot, so when Caleb tranformed their family into a room full of the people from his own nightmares, she hadn’t taken her eyes off of him. And he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her, either. Off of the illusion of pale skin and short hair she couldn’t properly brush out of her eyes. 

Caleb doesn’t rise to her bait. He never does. He closes his eyes, fingers rubbing together like he’s keeping himself from casting, or summoning Frumpkin. “There was a chance they may not have been protected at that particular moment. It was a slim chance, but we are rather slim on leads at the moment,” he says tersely.

“And the Scourger?” she prompts. 

“We talked about this already. I don’t know what you want, Beauregard.” 

“I just-” she takes a calming breath. “Are you okay?” 

That seems to surprise him more than anything else she’s said. He opens his eyes, meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment before looking back toward the black sky of Rhosahna outside the window. 

“I am fine. Jester and Caduceus healed me up quite well. The rest…” he trails off with a shrug. “I did what I thought was best. I am sorry if you do not agree.” 

“It’s not that,” Beau says with a sigh. “It’s- look. You made yourself look like Trent Ikithon, dude. You made me into Astrid." She'd seen what it had done to him. What Beau, through no fucking choice of her own, had done to him. "You made me wear her face, and you kept looking at me like- fuck, Caleb. Do you really think I don’t know what fucking hurting yourself looks like?” 

Caleb's face does something… complicated, at that. Drawing in with a mix of pity, frustration, and humor dry and cracked as the barbed fields. 

"Beauregard…" but he can't seem to come up with anything to say.

What his face is saying, though, is that he sees her way too fucking clearly. She can see him putting it together, why she's here. How she knows. It's obvious- she knows what that kind of harm looks like as well as she knows her own face. It's obvious that she only saw the library light because she was sleeping out on her balcony. Again. 

Beau turns away from him, sitting heavily on the window ledge so that her feet kick against the rough wood shingle exterior of the Xhorhaus, staring out into the stubbornly cloudiness ever-black sky. There is a soft snap, and Frumpkin leaps lightly up onto the sill beside her. Beau reaches out to pet him automatically, refusing to dwell on the lack of clouds. Refusing to wonder if the skies are clear in Zadash, too. 

A chair scrapes behind her. Caleb walks over to her, propping a shoulder against the side of the open window, hands deep in his pockets, watching the night with her. 

"I am sorry," he says softly, "about the Soul." 

She flinches, wiping a hand across her face even though there's no way she's fucking crying. 

"Yeah," she mutters. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to banish Jesters description of the slaughter from her mind. Trying not to think about who might be gone. 

"Look Caleb I- I just need you to be with it, okay? I know that's a super shitty thing to ask, given what we're headed towards but. Fjord's still getting his sea legs again, Jesters barely holding it together, Nott- I'm not sure Nott is holding it together, and Caduceus is great but he can't fucking do this himself and- and neither can I, okay? So I need you with me. I need to know that you aren't gonna go into some kind of fucking self-punishig spiral as we get to Rexentrum." It comes out in a rush, and by the end she's breathing hard, hands clenched around the wood of the sill until slivers dig into her palms. 

He doesn't answer her for a long moment. Then, a hand comes down on her shoulder. At first she assumes he's slipped into Frumpkin, steadying himself in order to escape his own senses, but when she risks a glance back his eyes have no sheen of arcane energy. They are the same steady, serious blue as ever, fixed on the invisible dark horizon. They watch it together, for a while. 

"This is going to be difficult," Caleb says eventually. Beau almost laughs - understatement of the fucking century - but the calm seriousness of his voice stops her. He's right. 

"Yeah. It's gonna fucking suck."

"Ja. I will...endeavor not to make it more so. For the group. For you" 

Beau sighs. "You know my concern isn't just fucking strategic though. Like, you know that right? We - I - care about you."

The hand on her shoulder squeezes, maybe involuntarily. "...ja. I know." 

"Okay." 

"Okay."

Quiet again, for a few minutes.

"Are you…" he seems to hesitate, then resolve himself. "Are you alright?"

At that, Beau does laugh, though it feels hollow. Her fingers fidget in Frumpkins fur. "Me? Nah." 

But it's a firm dismissal and Caleb, thank the gods, seems to get it, because he doesn't push. 

The hand on her shoulder withdraws eventually. She tries not to feel alone for it. 

"I really should finish this spellwork," Caleb says.

Right. "Yeah. Sure, sure. I'll leave you to it-" she's making to leave by the window, though she hasn't entirely figured out how she's going to get back up to her balcony, when his voice stops her.

"Beauregard… You can stay if you like. Ah, the couch is quite comfortable." A pause. "You can leave the window open if you like. I do not mind." 

She sometimes forgets that Caleb, despite his reclusive, untalkative nature, doesn't actually like to be alone either. And maybe the light would help. She slips back into the window, crossing the room to settle on the couch while Caleb shuffles back to his desk and gets his papers back in order for working. The scratch of the pen nib is almost soothing, something to keep her tethered when she closes her eyes. 

"Hey uh. Thanks, Caleb." 

"Oh. Gern geschehen. Ah- goodnight, Beauregard." 

"'Night," Beau mutters, face already smashed as deeply into the cushions as she can get it. 

It's going to be a long fucking journey, but it doesn't start until tomorrow. For now, in the library, she sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought to myself "do I make Beau say fucking too many times in this fic?" And then I thought about her most recent convo with Diaron and thought "you know, I showed restraint, actually."
> 
> Comments/ feedback are always much appreciated!!


End file.
